Chapter 86: Drawing the Fire from Beneath the Cauldron

When Park Young-gwan left the café where the negotiation had taken place, Gu Cheng already had a clear picture in his mind.

It was obvious that a senior executive at S-M had colluded with Park Young-gwan, deliberately leaking Gu Cheng’s early black marks to him. The motivation, it seemed, was to display the threat as “I’m serious,” adopting a posture of “we don’t mind damaging the company’s reputation if it means mutual harm,” all to intimidate Gu Cheng. The aim was to make him panic, compromise, and never again dare to meddle in the Eastern entertainment industry.

It was reminiscent of Khrushchev handing “Sandal” missiles to Castro to threaten Kennedy—when the nukes were in Russian hands, Americans wouldn’t believe the Russians would really go for mutual destruction. But once the missiles were with the Cubans, who had nothing to lose, the Americans got nervous.

Yet, the fact that the S-M executive needed to collude with outsiders to harm Gu Cheng also proved that this person couldn’t control S-M single-handedly; otherwise, there’d be no need for such elaborate machinations.

Just as Khrushchev, lacking sufficient prestige, had to entrust his nukes to an emotionally unstable foreign child to scare people. If it had been someone like Stalin, the mere fact the nukes were in his hands would have been deterrent enough.

“Who could it be? I must find this person first.” Gu Cheng sat in the private room, sipping his coffee, pondering.

He hadn’t finished his thoughts when Pan Jieying pushed the door open.

Gu Cheng had always been careful to protect his cousin, so he hadn’t let her appear in the earlier negotiation. But Pan Jieying cared about him, so she had been waiting next door.

The two discussed the matter, and Pan Jieying agreed with Gu Cheng’s assessment, coming up with several ideas for investigation.

Gu Cheng called Quan Baoya: “Xiaoya, after I was fired, was there anyone in the company who had a particular dislike for me? Or who did your colleagues absolutely avoid mentioning my name in front of?”

“What are you up to?” Quan Baoya sounded slightly wary.

“Nothing, just asking.” Gu Cheng didn’t want to stain her innocence.

“You definitely have an ulterior motive! If you don’t tell me, I won’t help you.”

“Come on, what makes you think that…”

“A girl’s intuition,” Quan Baoya insisted stubbornly.

“Fine, I think someone high up at S-M wants to smear me, maybe even drag you down with me.”

Without hesitation, Quan Baoya refused: “That’s impossible! I don’t believe it. Our company is very united, you won’t get me to ask about that, I won’t help you.”

With that, she hung up.

Gu Cheng realized his attempt was rather unreliable—how could he involve a young girl in such scheming?

“It’s nothing. If Xiaoya had agreed, I’d be worried about her character,” Pan Jieying comforted her cousin, offering another plan, “Why not try the Han Geng angle? Park Young-gwan only managed to dig up your old fight, nothing else. That suggests Han Geng is shrewd and hasn’t betrayed you. Now that you’re far more successful than last year, give Han Geng some hope and he should be loyal to you, right?”

“That’s a good idea, let me think.” Gu Cheng’s eyes brightened, considering the possibility.

He called Han Geng, who initially claimed he couldn’t make it, avoiding Gu Cheng like the plague. But when Gu Cheng said over the phone, “Come and I’ll give you 200,000, guarantee your future prospects,” Han Geng surrendered instantly.

The café was near S-M, so Han Geng arrived within minutes.

“Brother Cheng… no, President Gu, why are you looking for me? I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

Upon meeting, Han Geng immediately lowered his posture. Gu Cheng’s meteoric rise this year was impossible to ignore. The ratings for “Meteor Garden” alone had surpassed 40% in the Eastern Isles, becoming ubiquitous.

“Want to be famous? Want to debut? Help me with something and your future will be limitless.”

Han Geng swallowed nervously, “Can you tell me… what it is? President Gu, don’t misunderstand, it’s not that I don’t want to help, I’m just afraid I’m not capable enough and might mess things up for you.”

Seeing Gu Cheng’s imposing demeanor, Han Geng changed his tone halfway through.

Gu Cheng took out a small paper bag containing 200,000 yuan.

“Take this pocket money. Let me ask you: In the past year at S-M, which senior executive disliked me the most, who was most upset about me—President Lee? Director Kim? Or someone else?”

“Kim… it should be Director Kim,” Han Geng answered instinctively, though uncertain.

Gu Cheng asked cautiously, “Are you sure? I don’t need hard evidence.”

Han Geng thought for a moment. “I think so. Whenever he hears your name, he gets furious. The rest… I can’t say.”

“All right, go back and check for me. I don’t want to hurt an innocent person.” Gu Cheng added, “Also, what’s the current relationship between President Lee and Director Kim? Very trusting, or are they rivals?”

Han Geng’s face turned pale, “President Gu, are you… planning to deal with Director Kim once confirmed?”

“That’s not your concern!” Gu Cheng barked coldly.

Han Geng knew it was time to pledge his loyalty. He gritted his teeth and revealed everything he knew:

“They’re not exactly harmonious. President Lee is more idealistic, artistic, while Director Kim is better at managing artists, more business-minded, knows how to maximize investors’ interests. Those shareholders who fear President Lee gets too emotionally involved in developing artists tend to support Director Kim at meetings.

They believe Director Kim’s management style won’t produce the best artists, but can prevent artists from becoming too powerful and abandoning the investors once successful. Especially after the HOT group collapsed, the investors sided with Director Kim and his power has grown.”

Gu Cheng nodded secretly, surprised how much Han Geng had matured in a year and a half, now savvy about internal company politics. Apparently, being tricked by Gu Cheng back then had taught him a lot.

“Very good. Let me teach you a trick to test things when you go back—spread rumors that before I left, you and I had some dealings. Of course, you know which things can be said and which can’t. Just lure Kim Young-min out to privately chat with you. Then, record all his questions about me and report them to me. Understood?”

Han Geng swallowed again, wanting to ask about the terms, but held back. “Understood!”

Gu Cheng was very pleased with his performance. He stood and patted Han Geng’s shoulder. “You trained in dance, not singing or composing. Wanting to push you as a solo singer, you just don’t have the talent. I’ve seen it—you’ll only ever make it as a lead dancer in a group.

Why not, since you have a decent face, learn acting? If you succeed, I’ll give you a chance to act in some idol dramas—whether you become famous depends on you.”

“Thank you for your guidance, President Gu!” Han Geng was flexible. Since in another timeline he could pee in a classmate’s water bottle and steal someone’s laptop, this bit of humility was easy.

…

Han Geng was indeed swift at these dirty tasks. The information Gu Cheng wanted soon arrived in full. In fact, when Kim Young-min questioned Han Geng, Han Geng managed to extract several key details.

Gu Cheng finally pinpointed his enemy and collected evidence that “Kim Young-min, for his own prestige, wanted to block Gu Cheng’s influence in the Eastern Isles, even at the cost of S-M’s reputation.”

Gu Cheng resolved to eliminate all the hidden risks accumulated from his pre-transmigration years in one decisive move.

Two days later, he seized an opportunity when Kim Young-min was absent from the company, and through the Quan family, arranged a meeting with S-M’s president, Lee Soo-man.

As for how he knew Kim Young-min’s absence, Han Geng had spent considerable effort gathering information from colleagues over meals.

Lee Soo-man, though president, was himself an artist, having left the stage in the early nineties to focus on discovering new talent. Deep down, he retained an artist’s integrity.

He held no particular grudge against Gu Cheng, nor did he favor an “abandoned disciple.” When Gu Cheng had been at S-M, Lee had barely noticed him. Now, he only felt Gu Cheng had gotten lucky.

There was nothing to reminisce about, so they went straight to business.

As soon as they met, Gu Cheng got to the point: “President Lee, everyone says your company is truly an ‘artist company’—and it’s not an exaggeration. Aside from Quan Baoya, I haven’t seen anyone with real prospects.”

Lee Soo-man replied, “You said you wanted to discuss cooperation, so I agreed to meet. Are you here just to say this?”

“Of course not. I heard that in the Fusang market, your company has a sixty-forty management contract with Avex Records for promoting Miss Quan Baoya. Our Chengpin Media would like to acquire similar rights for Miss Quan in the Huaxia market. Chengpin Media’s achievements in the legitimate Huaxia audio-visual market are clear for all to see.”

At the time Gu Cheng said this, “Meteor Rain” had surpassed 700,000 official sales, and Jay Zhou’s “JAY” had broken 500,000. The “no official releases in Huaxia” curse had been broken by Gu Cheng.

Though the numbers weren’t impressive yet. By the end of the year, Huaxia’s legitimate music market would still be less than a tenth the size of Fusang’s. But the trend and promise were obvious.

Before Gu Cheng’s arrival, Huaxia’s official music market was only a thirtieth or even a fortieth of Fusang’s. Gu Cheng had managed to raise it to a tenth in a year, which was remarkable.

If one could see even a glimmer of hope, the vast population and market capacity of Huaxia would make any East Asian entertainment company envious.

This was Gu Cheng’s trump card for pulling the rug out from under them.